This is not a sexy post. If you’re here for the sexy, don’t click through. If you are interested in the indisputably not sexy, read on.
In recent days, I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be me, what it means to be in, of my body. And about what it would mean if my body changed significantly, suddenly.
I don’t intend to write much about it here, but the nature of this project is that many of you who read what I write are interested in more than just the sex I have, but also, the thoughts I have. So this has been a big part of what I’m thinking about lately.
For the purposes of this blog, I suppose, what’s most interesting is how it all interacts with my sexuality. And that’s been interesting to me, because – well, because I think about sex, sexuality, and my sexuality a lot, no matter what.
Here are just a few observations and questions I’ve been pondering of late:
1) My energy level is lower than normal. This is true physically, but it’s also true emotionally. I have less energy to give to my writing, and less to give to my relationships. And this is true both of real-life friendships and of the more sexually oriented extracurricular relationships for which I generally have an insatiable appetite. I’ve been letting balls drop, not responding to e-mails, to messages. I’ve had less energy to deliver my desire, to explore it, to play with it, to magnify it. If you interact with me online, or in person, if you’ve done so for any length of time, you’ve likely seen this.
2) The sexual stimuli to which I respond have shrunk, my openness to new stimuli, to new PEOPLE, has diminished. That openness hasn’t disappeared. Two women in recent days have pierced my reticence, and I suspect neither of them has noticed – or experienced – any of what I’m talking about. In their cases, I’m very much myself (which, ironically, they’re just getting to know, so it’d be hard for them to notice any difference). I expect I’ll write about each of them – and wonder about how it is they’ve managed to accomplish this – in the coming days, if they wish. But others, and in particular, Isabel and Lexy, my two long-standing playmates, surely have seen the drop-off. They haven’t done anything wrong. Each has, in her way been exceedingly understanding and generous. Isabel, for example, stands ready simply to suck my cock, should I ask (and our schedules permit). And we continue to chat about things unrelated to the sensation of my cock in her pretty body. For this, I’m enormously grateful. And Lexy, at a distance, has fed me astonishing volumes of porn, visual and auditory, in addition to her usual thoughtful engagement with me on other matters. Even while tolerating as best as she can my slowed response time, my laconic messages, and my frequent disappearances. (Lexy reminds me that she too stands ready to suck my cock, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the thought of that – and its current impossibility – has, at times, made me desperately restless.)
3) I remain receptive to certain kinds of stimuli. Lida, a woman I’ve not yet met, but engaged with virtually at quite an intense pace, seems to excite me, to make me feel alive, in ways I’m desperate to feel but that have been elusive. How? Why? I think, primarily, because (after a brief false start), it seems that doing precisely as I ask, and with a fairly rapid turnaround, makes her pussy throb. She’s discovered a powerful desire to give me what I want. And this is what I want, more than many other things.
4) I’m particularly sensitive to, and impatient with, rejection. On the one hand, I can’t bear to experience it, even more than usual. On the other, when I get a whiff of it, rather than engage in my usual Herculean efforts to transform it into acceptance, lately I’ve simply been turning away.
5) There’s one exception to this. When the rejection takes a particular form, when it’s of the “it’s not you, it’s me” variety, I’m even more prone than usual to move mountains to transform it. I think this is because, as much as I crave, and fear, abandonment, radical acceptance is my kryptonite, and the thought that it might both exist in someone and be unavailable to me at the same time is just intolerable. There’s a lovely young woman with whom I’ve been interacting who’s helped me understand this dynamic better. She’s spectacularly beautiful, and sexy, yes, but that isn’t what draws me to her. What draws me to her is her openness – to her experiences and feelings, to mine, and to sharing them. She keeps turning away, citing all the reasons she isn’t “right” for me, and, recently, worrying about participating in a relationship in which she is seen purely sexually. Of course, I don’t see anyone purely sexually. That’s kind of an optical illusion of this blog. I write about people purely sexually, but I interact with them far more comprehensively. In fact, as anyone who’s interacted with me sexually knows, I have a fairly strong tropism toward discussions that are far more than sexual. Sometimes they’re meta-sexual, concerning not just what I want, or what you want, but how, why. But sometimes they’re completely non-sexual. Lexy and I have talked about TED talks, books, travel, life planning, and relationships both sexual and otherwise. Isabel and I have talked about work, therapy, dating, relationships, politics, and friendships. There’s nothing Sofia and I didn’t discuss over the course of our interactions. So for all these reasons, this young woman’s fear of being seen, of being, entirely, exclusively, sexual, in her relationship with me seems misguided, wrong. But she’s recoiling, for reasons of her own. And I’m resisting her recoil.
6) I’m self-destructive. My struggle with cigarettes has resumed. As I face my mortality, I act in all sorts of ways that seem to make it more, rather than less, likely. I wish it weren’t so. It seems to be beyond my control.
7) I’m scared of death. I wrote it before, but it bears repeating. I like living. I love my family. I am a devoted family man (notwithstanding all that I write here about my devotion to other people, to other things). The thought of leaving my family behind scares the living shit out of me. And that, ironically, makes me self-destructive.
Anyway. Not hot. Apologies. It’s where I am. And yet, my cock is hard, and I’m fantasizing about getting Lida’s mouth on my cock, about getting Isabel’s mouth on my cock.
I’ll keep you posted. Like it or not.